


youth

by shortlived



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Red & Green & Blue & Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortlived/pseuds/shortlived
Summary: Green Oak is eleven, and he's the best—or so he's going to be, anyway. He just needs to get there.A treat fic for the 2017 Pokémon Holiday Exchange (pokexchange_2017): 'Green's first journey in Gen I, and his POV throughout it! Looking for bittersweet, kinda like sad stuff about childhood and growing up. Nostalgia is my favorite flavor after all :)'





	youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manhattan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/gifts).



Victory Road is an aftertaste of dirt at the back of Green's throat each time he breathes, but he pays it no mind beyond the kind of pokémon it tells him that'll be in his way. Machamp will surely make their homes where the strongest will journey, and golems are as much a requirement as golbats. Any rock can be a disgruntled geodude, any boulder a graveller, and the zubats and golbats will always be plotting behind his back.  
  
Relying on type advantage, Green can take on them all with his exeggutor alone. And he would, if he were any other basic, hobbyist idiot. But he's not, and the pokémon he carries with him to the top need to be able to face up to anything, even their own weaknesses. His growlithe has finally been allowed to evolve into an arcanine, and now it needs to learn to use its newfound speed and body weight to its advantage, no matter if the ground below turns out to be a pokémon, or an incoming  _earthquake_  attack.  
  
And for the trainers along the way, he won't go easy on them, either. Not anymore.  
  
Because he's so, so close. So close to everything he's been reaching for all this time. So close to the dream that's made it hard to fall asleep countless nights.  
  
He'll take down everyone in his way to make it true. Green knows it's the only way to get what he wants.  


—

  
Green Oak is eleven, and he's the best—or so he's going to be, one day.  
  
And that day's just right around the corner.

—

  
"I've got to say, you're not half bad for a kid."  
  
The Cerulean City's gym leader, a girl not that much older-looking than him, has a steady smile on her lips and a certain self-assurance in her eyes, but more importantly than either of those things is his new gym badge held out in her hand. Green takes it between a forefinger and thumb, by the smooth bottom and the pointed tip, and admires it against the light reflected off the swimming pool by the glass ceiling above. It gives off the illusion of saturated ocean waves trapped inside the waterdrop's centre.  
  
A familiar swell of satisfaction finds itself in his chest, and Green laughs, snapping his hand around his prize.  
  
"Thanks. And  _you're_  sure a lot of talk for someone who goes down quickly. Where was your so-called all out offensive in all that?"  
  
Instantly she bristles, her false pleasantries twisting away with a scowl. "You—! I went easy on you, you know!"  
  
Green shrugs, already beginning to leave. "Your loss. Don't worry, I'm not going to compare battling you to going up against the Elite Four. Those guys will hopefully give me a real battle to remember!"  
  
She's all scarlet and an anger ready to explode, but he just waves her a " _Baibai!"_ ", knowing there's nothing she'll really do but ball her tiny fists as his voice manages to cling to her gym's walls. So far, Green's finding that he's saving valuable time by making use of the pokémon he caught near the start of his journey than trying out every single pokémon he catches. He doesn't need any of the common oddish or bellsprout just for one water gym, and anyway, he already has a certain grass type he wants, which neither of  _those_  dumb plants are.  
  
But the upper path has the abra he's been hoping to find since he heard they were in this area. Abra, the psychic type pokémon said to have the highest IQ of all, once it evolves - he'll get far with something like that on his team, and he'll use it to make filling his pokédex that much easier.  
  
By then, Green has plenty to feel great about that day, visiting a pokémaniac by the name of Bill making it only that much sweeter, when he meets  _him_  of all people, just as he's making his way to leave.  
  
He grins, putting a hand to his waist.  
  
"Yo, Red! You're still struggling along down here?  _I'm_  doing great!"  
  
And he's doing even better, once he takes out Red's pokémon.

—

  
( But this was the way it was always meant to be between him and Red—with Green just that little bit better (or a _lot_ better) than Red. )

—

  
The videogame announces his victory with a cute tune, him with his toothy grin, and Red in the way he refuses to look at him, shoulders hunched as he pops the cartridge out for a new game.  
  
Victory is a sweet taste. Green takes his prize by running his finger heavily through Red's hair to distract him.   
  
"Told you I'd win. Like always!"  
  
"Get off!" Red finally manages to shake his hand away, and Green offers him mercy with compensation of a laugh, going over to the bed and flopping on top of it. It bounces lightly with his small weight, a fun feeling that ripples through him.  
  
But a temporary one, Green finds. The too familiar music and sound effects begin to fill his ears, and he exhales all air out of his body, arms spread out on the bed. He doesn't need to crane his head to see just what's going on, on Red's TV screen; he's seen it a thousand times, already.  
  
It's the same old thing, every day.  
  
"Don't you ever get sick playing games all day?" He asks, his eyes on the ceiling above. "Y'know, my gramps is making a device that'll tell everything about a pokémon that you see! Gramps used to take notes on all the pokémon he saw, and he's seen hundreds! From Johto, to Sinnoh... do you even know where Sinnoh is?"  
  
"Sinnoh? Isn't that all the islands?"  
  
" _Sinnoh?_ " Green laughs, kicking a leg. "You loser! That's the Sevii Islands!"  
  
"Whatever."  
  
" _Whatever._ "  
  
Red says nothing at that. Green drags his hands to rest over his stomach, imagining Red's ceiling to be more interesting that it is: long, wild grass that stretches for miles, rushing streams of seaking bumping heads; a  _gyarados_  tamed under his control, an arcanine too, just like his gramps had. Maybe even a tauros? One that'd take down any foe with a swing of its horns.  
  
He leans his head back, closing his eyes to remember all the information he'd absorbed from countless books in a far more vivid image. Tauros evolved from nothing, but arcanine came from growlithe; gyarados came from magikarp, but they were hard to train because magikarp are so dumb; seaking from goldeen, and those would be easy to find...  
  
But the same old sounds  _beep_  their way into his thoughts, reminding him where he is.   
  
His exhale is sharper this time.

—

  
All it takes is a strong enough  _gust_  to send the pokémon flying into one of the trees, body smacking into that and the ground, and it's out like a light. Nothing Red says makes it stir.  
  
Green sends back his pidgey in a flash of light, sitting both of his fists triumphantly on his waist once he slots the ball back.  
  
"Yeah! Am I great or what?"  
  
Red's a pinched mouth and a furrowed brow, but he says nothing, looking to where his pokémon lays unconscious until he eventually approaches it. Kneeling, slow and steady, he brings them up with him in cradled arms, mumbling something too quiet for Green to hear.  
  
Tch. It makes Red look all the more like a kid to Green, who rolls his eyes as he waltzes over. A boy with a pet before a trainer with a pokémon; no wonder why Red lost.  
  
"Geez, Red, have you been training  _any_  of your pokémon? I didn't see you in the pokécentre last night, so I figured you had to be getting chased by beedrills and gotten in a few fights." Green cocks his head, chest puffing. "But then, you're going up against me, so it's no wonder!"  
  
Red glares at him from under the shade of his hat, a familiar sight. Before he can say anything, Green points to the pokémon.  
  
"Why are you bothering to carry it anyway? Just stick it in it's ball and take it to the pokemon centre. Holding it doesn't a make a difference."  
  
"It  _does_." Red's gaze sharpens for a second, before he looks down at the form in his arms, frowning. "They've been trying a lot since I got them, and I want them to know— it's okay. We've both beginners."  
  
Green scoffs at that. "It sounds like  _you_  got a weak catch."  
  
The corners of Red's mouth twist on his face " _Shut up._  Why do you always say things like that?"  
  
Why would anyone get defensive over a weak pokémon, is what Green wonders. But he doesn't want to deal with Red's whining, so he just sighs, throwing his arms behind his head.  
  
"Whatever. I heard the Pokémon League has tough trainers, so I have to figure out how to get past them." And not waste time on kids like Red. He's already walking away as he calls out behind him, "You should quit dawdling and get a move on!"

  


—

  
The old man laughs—a sound more like a wailing, choking bark in Green's ears—over the noise of his bizarre machinery as he flicks the volcano badge across their distance. Green nearly fails to catch it, but just manages to in both of his hands.  
  
"You got me good! Flattened me! You youngsters are getting feistier these days! Say, you wouldn't happen to know the name Green Oak, would you?"  
  
Blaine's all noise in his ears at that point, but now, Green studies him suspiciously. "That's my name. What's it to you?"  
  
"Oh, that's you?" Blaine laughs again, this time at a lower volume. "The old ghost's gonna start losing her hair when she sees you... ah, you just start hearing things, when you get to my age. Not to say I'm losing any speed!"  
  
"Sure, old man."  _Coot_  was a word made for old guys like this. "I've gotta get going, so have fun losing your marbles."  
  
"Hooooold those rapidash of yours, boy!"  
  
There's a long bony finger pointed in his direction when Green looks back mid-turn, Blaine posed like a moron. He sighs, and, fine, he  _waits_ , while Blaine relaxes upon having his attention again. He adjusts the front of his lab coat ( _why_  does he have a lab coat) before folding his arms behind his back.  
  
"You'll reach the Elite Four in time, I'm sure, so you don't need to worry about that. But I had a question about that growlithe of yours. Do you know how it evolves?"  
  
"Fire stone, easy. Is this one of your quizzes?"  
  
"Oh ho, maybe, but I would say  _you're_  the quiz. A good reason to keep a growlithe unevolved is because..."  
  
"You'll need a specialist to teach it how to learn flamethrower later on." He waves a hand, cocking his head, confidence his middle name. "Please, I already know all this. I'm not some second-rate trainer. I'm a genius next to all the morons you're playing with here."  
  
Blaine scoffs, the noise ruffling in his moustache. "Yes, I can see you wouldn't keep that growlithe that way without a good reason. What other reason would a trainer not evolve a pokémon?" He pauses, looking at Green, but continues not long after. "But not just anyone would know these things, I'm sure you realise."  
  
He brings his hands back out, holding them up as he shakes his head. "Then I won't bore you for much longer. But I do have one more question... do you know what makes your growlithe so desperate to impress?"  
  
That causes Green to pause. "What kind of question is that?"   
  
Blaine waves out his arms. "Just one of an incredibly smart old fool! Who saw in your growlithe a rather curious expression, and growlithe are especially in tuned with their trainer's emotions compared to other pokémon. You should make sure she doesn't burn up on her own heat! Or yours."  
  
What the ramblings of an old man. Green makes a sound close to a groan, waving a hand dismissively, and turns for the exit. "Sure thing, old guy. You just take your medication and leave me to the winning."  
  
Sheesh; they let  _anyone_  become gym leaders in Kanto, don't they.

—

  
The pancakes look fluffy when the waitress slides his plate onto the table, a small maple syrup bottle joining next to it.  
  
"Enjoy," the woman winks, leaving Green to it. He picks up his fork in one hand and the bottle in the other, greedily pouring the thick liquid all over the top before digging in. They're warm and sweet on his tongue by the first bite, nearly as good as what his sister and him would make back home, and his second mouthful is already waiting for him when he swallows it down.  
  
Now that he's a trainer, he can have pancakes for breakfast, lunch,  _and_  dinner—if he really wanted to, that is. He won't, because Daisy taught him better than that, but the thought is tasty as he people-watches from his window seat. The best kind of seat, might he add.  
  
But Green finds himself looking in as much as he does out, studying the kind of people he's surrounded by, and thinking. They're all older, most of them ship men who work on the ships at Vermilion's docks, loud voices and with a life secure. It makes him smile to imagine, reminds him of the gnawing inside him of his potential he's been carrying for so long.  
  
None in the café knew it, but he was just like them: already a  _somebody_ , with their own life. He wasn't like the other kids, or trainers.

 

—

  
_It's just a kid?_  is what they say, one way or another.   
  
It's either by their words or in their eyes, but always with the way their boots clap against the flooring, never moving with more than confusion before confidence. They say it in their smirks, in their disgust; clad in black, they believe themselves something other than human, above it all.  
  
They never hurry. There's no need to worry about a kid, is there?  
  
_But it's just a kid—?_  Is what he makes them question after, makes them doubt. Green sees them as they are, all arrogance and blind.  
  
He makes them see him as he _is_.

—

  
( Except there's only one place Green wants to be, and that's the top: where the boss of Team Rocket is, and where Red will want to go.  
  
But of course, Green's going to get there first.  )

—

  
"Green, you haven't been getting into any trouble with Team Rocket as well, have you?"  
  
Green blinks, then scrutinises his grandfather's face on the other side of the glass. "Wha? Me?"  
  
"I know how competitive you and Red can be, and Red's been telling me all about the trouble that's been going on."  
  
_That_  again? Green groans, rolling his eyes, and he leans his arms on the computer's desk as best he can get without touching the keyboard set into it. Behind him the pokécentre is relatively quiet, but he’s not bothered about being overheard.  
  
"Do you think I'm as dumb as that dork? You shouldn't worry, gramps."  
  
His grandfather sighs, resting back into the chair with arms folding in front of him.  
  
"I will say it was risky - but what Red did turned out be a good thing. It seemed they were holding hundreds of pokémon under that game corner. They owe him their lives." Head bobbing, his eyes close as he adds, "I'm surprised by how skilled he's become."  
  
Green squeezes his lips together. His fingers press into the sides of his arms, shoulders tensing, and his vision narrows at the computer's screen, seeing only the faint outline of his reflection on the surface thanks to the lighting above. But for as long the moment seems to hold, Green releases it quickly, that tension on his mouth and the hard pressure on the back of his tongue, because—"Who cares? I'm still going to beat him when it matters."  
  
So what did it matter of Red's skill, of what he did? Green was already better, so it was a waste of time for his grandfather to be impressed.  
  
Now, or ever.  
  
He picks up his pokédex, shoving it in view of the screen with both hands. "Enough about Red, gramps. Didn't you want to see my pokédex? Take a look!"  
  
Green would make it obvious to his gramps eventually. Anything Red did, Green could— _naturally—_ do better.

—

  
When Green browses Celadon's department store, he imagines doing it like he might've in a memory: peering through shop windows with fingers pressed to its surface, waving over his companion for the trip to see whatever funny thing he'd found, complain and chatter about nothing over the noise of the other shoppers and then sit together during lunch at one of the food courts to talk even more. The way he knew all shopping trips to the store to go, the way it'd always been.  
  
But this is the present, where there's no other for him to pester, no skirt that sways from side to side; no voice soft when it reprimands him and soft when it doesn't. Daisy feels like what's a hundred miles away back home, and the knowledge of this clings to him as he goes through each of the floors, but only bothers with the stores that have any use to him, in the end. The last time he'd been here, it'd been with her; the time before that too, and the time before that one. And  _then_ had been when gramps came along, on the rare occasion he had the time to spare.  
  
Except Daisy was a constant—excluding the one time he snuck away with Red all on their lonesome, anyway. In those days, he would've killed to escape from his sister's watchful eye with no one else but his next door neighbour at his side, even if it did mean getting grounded for far longer than was fair. In those days, there wasn't anything that special about spending time _out_ with someone he spent his entire life _with_.  
  
But was she lonely without him nowadays, when gramps spent so much time at his lab?  
  
Green decides to head for the first floor's tea selection, knowing where it is without needing to ask. All the possible choices confuse him, and so he shoves a couple in his basket at random, knows she'll be happy with whatever.   
  
It perks him up, enough to throw in a plush of a growlithe.  _'I've got one now, just like gramps used to. See ya once I get to the top!'_  he writes on the letter he tucks against the toy, before sending it over via the PC's transfer system.

 

—

  
( Ugh, he can't believe he let Red beat him.   
  
But it's not his fault—the stupid raticate is starting to slow him down. It's about time he put together a  _real_  team.   
  
Au revoir, dumb rat. )

—

  
"Haven't you got a thunder stone to evolve that thing yet?"  
  
Red looks to his pikachu on his shoulder—tongue paused just before reaching the ice cream held before it, shifting uncertain glances at its new audience—with confusion, as if there's any other pokémon Green could be referring to.   
  
"You need a thunder stone?"  
  
"That's right! They don't evolve without one. I keep telling you, I know everything when it comes to pokémon."  
  
Green sees the the small pull on Red's lower lip, chewing on it inside his mouth, the thoughtful look as he watches his pikachu returning to licking at the sweet treat. For once, Red seems to be considering what he's saying.  
  
"Mmm... I'll think about it," comes his noncommittal answer. Green holds back the desire to roll his eyes, but not the one to fold his arms self-righteously.  
  
"What's there to think about? You know it won't get stronger if it stays like that."  
  
Red makes a face. "What if he doesn't want to evolve?"  
  
Now Green's the one making a face. "What? Would you keep him?"  
  
Pikachu joins in, now finally aware of the conversation taking place and cheeks puffing in indignation.   
  
"Of course I will! Pikachu's really good, even without being evolved! He's quick, he ran circles around  _your_  raticate—"  
  
"A raticate's a raticate, big deal—"  
  
"And," Red smiles to his pokémon, the pikachu's agitation melting away like the cream creeping over Red's fingers, "we work well together. I think we'll be partners a long time."  
  
Somehow, Green was sure the ice cream had found a way into his stomach, souring and churning into something unpleasant.  
  
Ugh. What a sap. 

—

  
( He can't keep waiting for growlithe to learn one stupid move. Whatever; it'll figure it out afterwards.   
  
They need to get stronger.  _Now._   )

—

  
There's a difference between being alone and lonely.  _Alone_  is what he is, in the sense of being a single trainer out in the world making a name for themselves.  _Lonely_  is the kind of thing someone like Red would be: a person dependent on others, who needed help learning to take care of themselves and to stand on their own two feet.  
  
Green thinks about home sometimes, tries to remember the ordinary - of meals he'd eat with his sister, sitting in his cosy bedroom, on his soft bed; seeing his gramps whenever he wanted, seeing his sister too; even sometimes seeing Red and his mom -, and it's not because he's lonely. It's because it feels like a million miles away, out of reach, and he never knew it'd be quite like this.  
  
But it'll be better, once he reaches the top. That much Green knows. Everything will turn out the way it should be, then.  
  
He just has to wait a little longer.

—

  
Green notices his pokémon gone; not by his own instinct, but by it's telepathic pull telling him to look back. When he complies, Alakazam stands before a set of stairs, leading his gaze down into the inky abyss below.  
  
He frowns, moving a single step towards them. "What? They're not going to be down there. The boss is on the top floor, like the guy said."  
  
Green thumbs in the way he'd been heading, the way towards the elevator, but Alakazam doesn't move. It looks between Green and the stairs again, and for a second, it makes him doubt the info.  
  
"Are they that way?"  
  
Alakazam doesn't answer. Green's brow knits together, impatience quickly beginning to settle into his shoulders. Just what was Alakazam playing at? Sure, everyone around here had been a joke to battle so far, but it didn't mean he wanted to be caught because they were standing around doing nothing.  
  
And that's all they were doing, at this point. He puts his hands on his hips, mouth a thin line.  
  
"We don't have time to waste exploring. If you know he's down there, we'll go that way, but if he isn't, we're going up. Got it?"   
  
The pokémon stands silently, the expression it wears somehow familiar, but only on another's face, and it flares Green's agitation further to even imagine. "That's  _all_  that matters," he adds harshly, and although it takes his pokémon another moment - another second to look down the stairs, another to stare at the ground at its feet -, it finally moves to join him.  
  
"Alright," Green breathes, turning back on his heel. " _Good._ "  
  
He picks his pace back up, before some part of him thinks to change his mind.  
  
They don't have time for gut feelings.

—

  
"Don't you care?" Red asks, and Green raises an eyebrow.  
  
Celadon is all fun and tireless around them, blue skies falling upon multi-coloured buildings that meet with light stoned pavement. It's fancy handbags hanging off the shoulders of well-dressed women in suits with heels that click, older girls laughing with _boyfriends_ at their sides, and music humming from inside the department store to their backs.  
  
Green adjusts his arms folded across his chest, foot resting on the glass panelling behind him.  
  
"About what? Some funny feeling you've got in your stomach? They call it indigestion, buddy."  
  
Red doesn't smile, and while his gaze narrows and his lips tighten, it's not enough for Green to get any enjoyment out of, and he huffs instantly. The guy's been reacting less and less the way Green wants him to, and it grates on him to be reminded.  
  
"Take this seriously," Red stresses, voice sharper than Green's ever heard it before, but it's dulled by the normalcy of life around them, of a woman's echoing singing at their backs. "Don't you know what they did back in Lavender Town? They took and killed the marowak. They steal people's pokémon!"  
  
This mood Red's trying to drag him into when he wants to be a part of everything Celadon promises—it's so annoying. Green adjusts his arms again, glaring back at the gaze questioning him, challenging. "And what do you want  _me_  to do about it? Go and teach them a lesson? What about the police, huh? Don't you think  _they_  know what they're doing? You forget about them?"  
  
He's got Red there, sees him pause as his mind begins to think; because of course Red didn't do that already. He misses the finer details, and it gives ( _should_  give) Green the upper edge. "Give it a rest, Red, whatever's going through your head. You're not a superhero — you're just a kid."  
  
Red stares down at the light brown paving, and Green looks over at his hands: tightened fists, connected to straight arms leading to shoulders tensed - and doesn't know what to do about any of it. Why the hell did he care so much? What did he think getting so wound would achieve?  
  
He was going to give himself indigestion for real, at this rate.   
  
"Bad stuff happens all the time. You've got to get used to it." It's the closest to comfort that he can find to say, coming out flatter than he intends it to, but it'll do, Green reckons. He turns in the direction of a fountain he can just about hear gushing, over the noise of the people whose bodies make it hard to see.   
  
If they were still nine—or, if maybe he were Daisy, hardly ruffled and always knowing how to cheer a person up, he'd offer to get something to eat with him, to take his mind off things. That seems about right: they'd be licking ice cream or ice pops bought straight out of a freezer, chatting about anything other than criminals in too much black; maybe they'd even find something fun to do, like visit the arcades and collect coins until they had plenty for a prize.  
  
But Green doesn't know how to do it. The invitation doesn't feel right in the back of his throat, despite how briefly the thought is tempting. It bothers him that he's even thinking about it at all, catching himself trying to remember the quickest way to the game corners, some of the games he used to play—with Red—in the past. Because it isn't him, that's not how he is, and the only reason he's humouring the idea is because of Red. And why should he be dragged into any of that—into useless childish antics that serve no purpose but to distract him, all because Red was so wound up?  
  
Just as he starts chewing on the inside of his cheek, Red gets up.  
  
"You're going?" Green asks before he thinks, and he sounds like he cares a lot more than he's comfortable with. Red looks over his shoulder with a nod, lips parting to say something too—but Green cuts in, his foot smacking on the hard pavement.   
  
"—just kidding, I've got things to do anyway."  
  
He leaves first, quickly, before Red gets the chance to.

—

  
When they meet again on Route 22, Red's gaze is silent, and piercing.  
  
It nearly makes Green choke—on all of his planning, done for  _them_ , for  _Red's_  benefit—but he didn't come all this way to falter now. He forces a smile, spreading out his arms from his sides, putting on the most familiar him voice he can manage.  
  
"What, Red? What a surprise to see you here! So you're going to the Pokémon League? You collected all the badges too?" He smiles harder, pinching into his cheeks as Red's expression doesn't change. "That's cool! Then I'll whip you as a warm up for the Pokémon League! Come on!"  
  
It'll be just like when they were kids, when they were friends—but they're still friends now. They've always been friends, and Red knows that, doesn't he?  
  
But Red says nothing, even when he wins, and Green's throat feels dry when he swallows.  
  
"I was just being  _careless_ ," he finds it in him to growl.  
  
And the gnawing sensation that's lived inside his chest for so long has finally started to make a meal out of him.

—

  
( Because they've scraped plenty of times in the past, and they've always come together again. This time would be no different—  
  
Waiting outside Victory Road, it's what Green believes. ) 

—

  
Green wakes, feeds himself and his pokémon, and then takes them to train or to look for new pokemon to catch, usually both at the same time. He fills the empty spaces inbetween as best he can until night comes, forcing himself to sleep at a time that won't wake him up before 6AM.   
  
This repeats the next day.  
  
They take to the wilderness in the mornings until the afternoon, while it's still light out and when the pokémon will finally need to be checked out at a pokécentre or begin to underperform. He then buys a late lunch or dinner, and trail the spots where the more decent trainers are likely to be found in the area.  
  
This repeats the next day.  
  
Once or twice, he explores the cities while he waits for his pokémon to heal. Eyes glaze over the storefronts, and the thought of calling home is just knowledge, a knowing option, than ever an incentive he feels anymore whenever he sees the machines in the pokécentres. There's nothing any of them can offer him right now. Distractions won't help.  
  
What he needs is to be ready, to show the world his potential. He's so close, and he can't screw this up.

—

  
( The pancakes begin to stick to the roof of his mouth. )

—

  
Red slips into the room by Silph Co's teleporter block, drawing Green off the side of the table he's on and onto his feet. His shoes clack as they connect to the floor, and Red's hand goes for a pokéball at his waist at the sound, pausing only when he sees who it is. His eyes enlarge to his surprise.  
  
"What kept you, Red?"   
  
Green shows him a smile—and it breaks apart as he bursts into laughter, the energy rocketing around in his chest making him pace.  
  
"I thought you'd turn up if I waited here! I guess Team Rocket slowed you down. Not that I care — I saw you in Saffron, so I decided to see if you got better!"  
  
The shock on Red's face hasn't quite diminished, mouth slightly ajar, and Green wonders - is he that surprised? Did he think he couldn't make it all the way here? Hah, what kind of chump does he take him for? - when Red asks, "Why didn't you help anyone?"  
  
Green pauses his feet. He throws Red a quizzical look, asks "Who?"—but finds, that actually, he doesn't particularly  _care_ ; so he scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. "Forget about that, aren't you paying attention? All those Rocket goons— they're weak! I haven't even started to break a sweat!  _Those_  are the big bad? The guys everyone's so worried about? What a  _joke._  I could keep this up—"  
  
He feels it before he registers it, a force smacking him in the chest that causes his feet to stumble backwards. A force, Green realises, to be Red, the same source of a screaming that his ears can't make out. And then he's shouting too, taking fistfuls of a red jacket and shaking the other boy until he digs fingers into the side of his face, leaving trails of heat on his skin; a pulsing pain, sticky and wet.  
  
Green shoves him down,  _better_  than he did, now the beating of his heart hitting at his ribcage with hollow and rapid knocks, now him the one wide-eyed, staring. He feels his mouth move,  _What the hell, Red?_ , but can barely hear himself over his own body. Somehow, Red's voice cuts in, louder than anything else.  
  
"You're no better than any of them—you're just another lousy trainer!"  
  
Green stills. It should be hard with the energy that had just been pounding in his ears, that still continues to. But it's sunken low in him, somewhere inside his gut; hardening like a stone, yet reverberating through every part of him.  
  
He exhales over it, shakily.  
  
"Oh  _ho_ , so that's how it is, huh?" He sneers, forces his voice to be louder. "Then I guess you're ready for the Rocket boss."  
  
Red can have a go at him, and whatever else awaits him.  
  
As for Green—  
  
  
  
he never looks back.

—

  
( He doesn't realise until later the blood on his face isn't his. )  

—

  
Not even his grandfather gets it.   
  
But what does his grandfather know, anyway? He was the best years ago, and he's a good professor these days. One of the best, even. But Green Oak, he's something different. Special. He knows things that people like his grandfather didn't know in the past, and he's captured over countless different pokémon since becoming a trainer. How many other trainers achieved what he did? How many trainers knew  _as much_  as him? How many had his drive? His ambition?  
  
He was doing everything right by his pokémon. They got fed, he led them to victories,  _he_  found out the best ways to bring out their potential. What more did they need than that?  
  
So what if he would replace them if he found they weren't good enough?

—

  
( So what did anything else matter, other than being Champion? ) 

—

  
"Why did you do  _that_  for?" Green asks, and he hears his sister laugh.  
  
"I'm not going to let Red go without a map, silly," she replies, and Green groans loudly, throwing his hands up and shaking his head. Trust  _Daisy_  to be a goody-two shoes. That was his big sis, inside and out.  
  
"Well, he still isn't here, so it didn't help much. He's gonna be sleeping with the beedrills."  
  
"You should look out for one another out there, you know. It's going to be a long trip."  
  
"He's just going to slow me down, sis," he complains. "I wanna get to the Pokémon League and beat the Elite Four! I can't wait around forever for him."  
  
Daisy hums a sound that feigns understanding, but Green knows it's far from that.  
  
"Then maybe you should think about slowing down too. Even gramps didn't become Champion in a day. Get to know your pokémon and have a little fun along the way."  
  
" _I know, I know,_ " he hurries to say, but he's smiling too: thinking of busy cities, league badges, and battles; of all the wild pokémon waiting to be caught, and how he's going to have them all. It tightens his chest, scares him a little too—or, just a little funny, anyway. "I just can't wait, y'know sis? It's finally happening! I should be able to reach Pewter City's gym by tomorrow, and then I'm going to get my first badge!"  
  
"I know." Her usual warmth, and he can picture her smile, comes through easily over the phone. "Give me a call after you challenge them, okay? I'll be rooting for you."  
  
"Yeah!"

—

  
The boulder badge fits snug in the centre of his palm, the weight of it barely noticeable, and Green can't keep his eyes off it once he leaves the gym. His first badge, and what a breeze it was to get. That's what he'll say, anyway, when he tells his sis and gramps.  
  
Even when he puts it in his pocket, his hand stays with it for the longest time, refusing to let it go. It's the start of everything, to him.

—

  
When he steps into Route 1, Green knows that the world isn't ready for what's about to hit it.  


—

  
Green Oak is eleven, and he's the best—or so he's going to be, anyway.  
  
But the future is so close that he feels the anticipation for it gnawing impatiently at his insides everyday. He made the decision long ago, but it might as well have been destined for him from the day he was born: A world famous pokémon trainer, a  _Champion_  - just like his grandfather was once long ago, and now the most celebrated professor in the world.  
  
His stories were always better than Daisy's late at night, as few as they were. He'd share tales of how trainers came from all over just to battle him, how he took them down, and how he survived dangerous situations just because of how smart and cool he was. Or so that's the way he remembers them.  
  
He might even end up better than him.  
  
It's a thought that makes him fall asleep smiling.

—

  
  
  
  
_He's so, so close._  


—

  
  
  
  
  
All it takes a hard enough force from an electric bolt to throw the gyarados's head against the wall, for it to bounce from there and smash to the floor below, and it comes—when everything Green shouts, everything he screams and pleads for doesn't make a difference—to an end.   
  
He stands there wide-eyed, with blue scales and grey walls and Red's last standing pokémon filling his vision.. The screen announces his defeat as his last pokéball crosses out, and a loud, sliding noise like a heavy door closing shut finalises the result, slicing into his body, too.  
  
It awakens Green from his stupor. He reaches out, towards everything slipping rapidly out of his grasp.  
  
"— _No_ , that can't  _be!_  You beat my best! After all that work to become League champ? My reign is over already? It's not fair!  _It's not fair!_ "  
  
The space of the room mocks him, vast, empty, so little,  _too little_ ; echoing his words on its cold walls and ringing them back into his ears. To let him hear for himself how worthless they are. Small and empty. No, after everything? After everything he  _did_.  
  
"Why? Why did I lose? I never made any mistakes raising my pokémon... so why?"  
  
Heat pricks his cheeks, water stings at his eyes, and the pain in his knees are sharp as they hit the metallic flooring. He stares at nothing, until legs fill his sight, a yellow bolt-shaped tail just in view.   
  
Red stands like a blurry mirage, his pikachu sheltered in his arms.  
  
But Green can still see enough to know, despite the question getting trapped in his dying throat:  
  
_What do **you**  have to cry over?_

 

 

 

 

—

  
  
  
_Hey Red, fancy meeting you! You wanna get ice cream?  
  
Hey, how about we get pancakes?  
  
Huh? Red? You're here? Well, let's battle! Let me show you how good I've become!  
  
See? Can't you see it? Aren't you impressed?  
  
Why aren't you impressed?  
  
  
  
  
  
What happened, Red?_

 

 

 

 

 

—

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Where did I go wrong?_

—

  

  
  
Green,  
  
How are you doing, little brother? It's been a long time since we last talked. I know you've been working hard, and you probably want to wait until you get to the league to phone home. I still think about when you'll call anyway, or if I'll see you on the TV first. But you know it's only fun to see family on the TV when you know you're going to see them soon in person, like when we'd watch gramps on TV together because we knew he'd be on there. So don't be too much of a show-off, alright?   
  
I've been thinking a lot about your journey lately. Do you remember when you started wanting to be a trainer? You always wanted to, but there was that time after your tenth birthday you really started buckling down. How many of granddad's papers did you steal from his lab because you thought they'd help you along the way? How many of  _my_  magazines did you take? I can remember you getting in trouble for it was like yesterday; but everything's changed, too. It's different now, without you around.  
  
I'm fine with it. As long as my little brother is happy, that's what matters. I was happy too, when Red decided to become a trainer after all. I don't know if you two have made up yet, but you know, you've never been that different. I know you're making a face reading that, but it's true. You've both always wanted to be strong and prove yourselves. It's just hard to tell sometimes, and there's a lot you don't realise when you're growing up.  
  
I wonder what will happen to the both of you?   
  
Whatever happens, I know you've got a big life ahead of you, and you'll always have a home here with your sis and gramps. Never forget that.  
  
Love you, Green!  
  
Daisy  
(Your number one fan ❤)

 

 

 

—

  
  
"Grraaammmps, you promised! You were gonna do it tonight!"  
  
Green tugs on his grandfather's hand, pulling for him to get up from the desk. The breath the old man exhales is a heavy one, a weathered hand tapping the wood of the table, and when he speaks, Green knows he's won.  
  
"Alright, alright," his grandfather concedes. He pushes his chair out, but instead of standing to lead him to bed, he scoops Green into his arms by under his armpits, bringing him to sit on his lap with a huff.  
  
"Green," he says, with humour in his voice, "you really do get bigger every day."  
  
It gives Green all the reason to look smug, to puff out his chest, so he does. "I  _am_  eight."  
  
"Ah, yes, that you are. When I was eight... well, that was a long time ago."  
  
It's a time that Green can't even start to imagine, but he doesn't want to; there's far more important stories than  _that_. "Tell me a story about when you were a trainer again!"  
  
"One of those again?" There's that ticklish tone again, finding its way into his grandfather's hum. "Let's see, what would you like... I've already told you about winning the Championship—"  
  
"You dealt the finishing blow to gengar with your tauros!" Green interjects, fists and all.   
  
"Yes, yes," he laughs, in that way only old men with white hair—and sometimes bald patches where hair used to be—can have. "It was an amazing fight. Agatha was an amazing trainer; still is, I'm sure. She was a rival that kept me sharp— like Red and you both do for each other."  
  
Green's nose wrinkles. "Red doesn't keep me sharp. I'm the one who keeps  _him_  sharp."  
  
"Now—it's hard for you to tell, but everything you do has an affect on another. Your competitive spirits, the way you push and pull—"  
  
"Gramppps—"  
  
"Even in my age, Green, I miss that!" His grandfather pats his leg. "If I still had that... well, I'm much too old. That's a time gone."  
  
Green huffs. Growing older never sounds fun when gramps has to associate it with his ailing bones and clumsy memory. But it won't deter him'; now, he feels more ready than ever to tell him, putting a hand on his arm and shaking it.  
  
"Well, I'm not, gramps! And I'm—" he brings his body closer, excitement bubbling away in his stomach, prickling the hairs on his skin, "—I'm going to become a pokémon trainer too! That's why I want you to tell me everything! So I can learn and become the best!"  
  
It's the biggest decision in his life, and Green feels it there, bouncing around in him. It's too much waiting on his gramps's reaction, but that comes soon enough, riding on his aged voice.  
  
"Then, I guess we better get you a few books to get you started."

 

 

 

—

  
  
"Why don't you want to be a trainer too?"  
  
"I'm not interested."  
  
It's the same old answer again. Green  _harrumphs_ , shoulders shaking with it, and he mutters a " _scaredy-meowth_ " under his breath that Red says nothing to. Which means he mustn't have heard him, and is less satisfying than if he had.  
  
Because all that leaves him with is silence, and that quickly grows to bore him. Green throws his dangling legs onto the bed and starts crawling to where Red sits huddled in the corner with his comic book. "It's okay, I'll remember you once I become the greatest trainer. I'll invite you over to my new place!"  
  
Red peers at him from over his comic. "New place?"  
  
"'Course!" He plops down, waist to waist, snatching Red's hand from his book to hold in his. Red frowns, but Green ignores it. "I'm going to be rich and important, so I'll get a mansion!"  
  
That earns him a suspicious look before Red returns back to his book. "Your gramps doesn't have a mansion," he points out blandly.  
  
"Gramps wanted a lab." Green gives a shrug - what a boring choice - and picks up the side of the comic that's begun to slope, balancing it between both their laps. "I don't want a lab, I want a mansion, so that's what I'll get."  
  
A mansion all for him—and he guesses Red can hang out, too. The thought delights him, fills his chest up with something warm. No rules, no one else telling him what to do. He turns to the other boy, bringing their faces a little closer and rubbing their knees together, lowers his voice in that way he knows Red likes. "It'll be a lot cooler than your bedroom, huh?"  
  
The other boy's mouth makes an  _oh_  shape, words trapped in his throat and his cheeks a light shade of his name. "Y-yeah," he manages to get out somehow, and Green likes the slight stammer to it. It pulls the edges of his lips into a smirk.  
  
He can still get him on his side about some things. 

 

 

 

—

  
  
Blaine's laugh comes like a bark in rapid successions, but there's none of the volume, none of the usual energy that it's chocked full of. There's not much to really laugh about, after all—there's not much of anything on Cinnabar Island anymore.  
  
"You didn't come all this way to see my corpse, did you?"  
  
"You?" Green echoes, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. "Nah, you wouldn't kick the bucket that easy. How the hell do you keep that moustache that, that's what  _I_  want to know."  
  
"A gentleman's secret. I'll tell you when you're old enough to appreciate them."  
  
"You  _will_  be dead by then, old man."  
  
" _So morbid!_ " Blaine chokes out another laugh. "And at a place like this!"  
  
It doesn't mean anything, but Green falls silent anyway (gives a scoff, just to not make things awkward), surveying the mound made from the lava's outflow. There's no concern over another eruption happening any second, but when he breathes in the stained air, it leaves an aftertaste of burnt dirt and sulphur in the back of his throat.  
  
Green swallows it down.  
  
  
It's a familiar and bitter flavour.


End file.
